SGOTM 9 - Woody Woodpecker for President

The celts would've reached 20k in entremont sooner than that I'm pretty sure, yes.

I'll try butchering up another poem, this week-end, for our final spoiler. I'll also try and find the original first-spoiler one in this thread.

I used this one for 4 reasons:
1- I like it
2- I already talked about it in the thread
3- It is obtusely long, just like a 2050 AD game is
4- It originally talks about the meaninglessness of things, which is pretty much what 540 'enter' hits led to.


The despair song of J. Alfred Lodbrock
Butchered from T.S. Eliot.

LET us go then, you and I,
When the Indians are spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted continents,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap castles
And Gallic restaurants with oyster-shells:
Spaniards that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, ' What is it? '
Let us go and make our visit.


Indeed there will be time
For the black smoke that slides along the shuttle
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question right onto the Indian plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

Indeed there will be time
To wonder, ' Do I care? ' and, ' Do I dare? '
But we dared not, but we did care
(They will say: ' How their library has grown big! ')
My morning Republic, my evening TGL gambit,
My axemen rich and modest, but victorious by a simple pin--
(They will say: ' But how his opponents are thin! ')
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
For it is they who will visit the stars.

And how should I presume?
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And I have known the techs already, known them all--
Parts that are aluminumed and white and bare
(But in the uranium light, containing rubbwer as well!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes Gandhi so digress?
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?


Shall I say, I have gone in orbit
And watched the satellite that spies over the India
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of Delhi.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by Gandhi’s impotency,
Asleep...tired...or he malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
I have seen the eternal Battelship hold my coast, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have seen him fly with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming star system,
To say: ' Go to Alpha Centauri, run or be dead,
Come back to tell us, you are one with the stars'--
If one, settling an ear by his head,
Should hear: ' That is not what I will do at all.
That is not it at all. '

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the Ancient Cavalries and the zerks and the Iron Works,
After the tech race, after the world domination, after the Ottomans that trail along
the floor---
And this, and so much more?--
But as if a magic lantern threw Gandhi’s nerves in patterns on a screen;
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should hear,
' That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all. '


No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a civ or two,
Advise the Indians; no doubt, an easy tool,
Library, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old...I grow old...
I shall Win this by culture, so that one and one and a many
See the irony of letting Gandhi lose after 540.

This could be included for the historical cleverness of jb who gave birth to this nonsense:

jb1964 said:

I think we should go for Free Art since Shake's will be critical to victory!

Click to expand...

B said:

... and so it came to be that the raging viking offensive at the "entire world minus one" took a sudden halt, and then everyone came to that grand theater :

Wilbrot Shakesbrokson
Chant 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boats which shake against the cold,
Bare bloodied fists, where late the sweet axes sang.

In my sword'st the twilight of such day
As after breath fadeth in the chest,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his village doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed by that which grew beard by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy hate more strong,
To love that life which will leave you ere long.

Click to expand...

Unless there are better ideas (read any other ideas) I'll post this as our team spoiler sometime monday or tuesday.